Summer nights on the rickety side porch
that I hoped wouldn’t collapse

Perched on the nylon-strapped lounge chair,
the small white radio dialed to the baseball game

My dad holding the plate

Special sandwich reserved for game night:
Dark rye bread smeared with Limburger cheese
and sliced red onion that made my eyes water

The announcer’s reliable voice
mixed with the muted light of summer dusk

Strikes and runs elicited pain or pleasure.

I’ve never eaten it since…
…don’t know if I even liked it then

But I liked those nights
on the rickety side porch
that I hoped wouldn’t collapse

and the pungent fragrance of connection
that permeated everything